


I'm Going Home

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Panic Attacks, They're so cute it actually made me feel embarrassed to read aloud to myself in my own room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14272146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean’s mind tapers off until everything sounds more like it’s underwater, and he’s there with his scuba gear, watching as these two extraordinary creatures interact in their natural habitat.Never again will he doubt the power of words. He doesn’t regret taking Journalism for a literary competency for a second, having met the outspoken, unashamed Castiel Novak in the second row.But right now, this moment, doesn’t need words. It just needs to be captured through his goggles as long as his oxygen tank will allow.





	I'm Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I just got back from Pride, where I publicly announced my bisexuality (w o w), so that definitely sparked inspiration to finish writing this. And I'm glad it did. I think it turned out good.

I’m Going Home

_I'm going to the place where love_  
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.  
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

“Hey, keep your eyes on the road.”

Cas nods slowly with wide, interested eyes. “Ah, so you _do_ care about the Pimpmobile?”

“I care about my pretty mug,” Dean replies, pulling down the overhead compartment for the slide-out mirror—something Cas makes fun of him for. According to him, Dean’s perfect concoction of facial features “is the only reason I’m reconsidering if God is real”. And while that may be true, it still doesn’t excuse the giant volcano threatening eminent eruption on his eyebrow. “Especially meeting your parents for the first time.”

“Cute. But you’re neither of my moms’ types.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dean says, closing the shade, “I’ll just rely on my blue ribbon personality.”

“ _Well,_ I wouldn’t go as far as to say—”

“Hey, I won you over, didn’t I?”

Cas replies with a sheepish grin and, “That it did, Wilbur.”

“Did you just call me a pig?”

“Hey, you said it yourself,” Cas says, winking, “your personality receives all the accolades.”

“Well in that case,” Dean announces, making a point reaching across and threading their fingers together, “we’re both deserving of blue ribbons.”

Cas’s face burns like the lit end of a cigarette. Then, he shakes his head, as if attempting to rid himself of the ashes. Dean grins at the sight. He loves getting Cas all flustered. They’ve only been dating half a year, but Dean feels like a worm, having wiggled his way into every one of Cas’s sweet honeycrisp crevices. So he knows Cas changes the subject whenever he feels his heart bursting with too much joy. “Admit it, you love this car.”

Dean laughs softly, and, still looking into those gorgeous blues, replies, “I love… how much _you_ love this car. Now watch the road— _again.”_

“Sorry,” Cas amends, and, for a second, Dean takes him seriously. “I was reading the roadmap to Heaven in your eyes.”

Dean shakes his head with a bemused scoff, but squeezes Cas’s hand tighter, “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

 

Dean’s not too surprised when they pull into a Victorian-style three-story house, complete with a lawn that curves into the walkway leading to the rustic mahogany double doors. Cas has told him about the family business. One of Cas’s moms is an industrial psychologist, the other a school psychologist.

Cas is more interested in writing, which obviously isn’t as lucrative a profession, but his parents seem supportive—unlike Dean’s father when Dean announced he was switching his major to fire science. He can’t blame him, though. Dean’s still not over it either. He’s not sure he ever will be.

Even the doorbell adds to the theatrics of the place, chiming not once, twice—but three times. Every chime seems to echo farther away until it’s almost inaudible. That’s when he hears flip-flops slapping against the wooden floorboard before the door swings open, revealing a woman with blonde hair curled at the ends of her shoulders and light blue eyes. She’s donning a yellow sundress and a modest opal necklace.

“Hi! Come on in,” she says, her smile matching the brightness of her dress. Once inside, she turns to face the welcomed stranger before her. “You must be Dean,” she says, lending out her hand, “I’m Hester, Cas’s mom.”

Dean smiles in return before taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. He’s not sure if it’s too formal, mostly because Cas is the first person he’s seriously dated since Lisa Braeden in junior high, but he doesn’t want to risk coming off passive to something so important to him.

But judging by the silent communication involving raised eyebrows and a crooked smile between Hester and her son, he’s done well so far. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Where’s Mom?” Cas asks.

“Still upstairs, getting ready,” Hester replies, “you know how important things like this are to her. Remember prom night with April Kelly?”

“Oh God, don’t _remind_ me. She puked inside the pocket with my corsage before ditching me for her friends.”

“But then Inias asked if he could sub for a dance partner and you refused.” Hester clutches her chest. “Honey, you turned down a dreamboat just to make sure April got home safely.”

“Inias was a nice guy. But he did have a peculiar smell, I don’t know if it was bad weed or…”

Dean’s mind tapers off until everything sounds more like it’s underwater, and he’s there with his scuba gear, watching as these two extraordinary creatures interact in their natural habitat.

Never again will he doubt the power of words. He doesn’t regret taking Journalism for a literary competency for a second, having met the outspoken, unashamed Castiel Novak in the second row.

But right now, this moment, doesn’t need words. It just needs to be captured through his goggles as long as his oxygen tank will allow.

“Son, who’s this devilishly handsome man in my walkway?”

Dean blinks a few times, slowly coming back to reality. Cas gestures to the woman at the top of the stairs with an obvious blush coating his cheeks. “Dean, my mom.”

A stark contrast to Hester’s getup, the black jumpsuit Cas’s other mom’s wearing sashays with every step down the stairs. Although her feet are naked and her hair is down, she moves with the grace of an eagle gliding over the smooth, evenly still waters of her dark, straightened hair.

Dean repeats his greeting as with Hester, but receives an entirely different reaction: Cas’s mom _bursts_ into laughter so loud, it echoes across at least three rooms. Dean blanches. Luckily, she’s quick to amend: “Honey, you don’t have to be so nervous. It doesn’t look good on that gorgeous face of yours.”

Dean throws his head back. “How did you—?”

“I’m an industrial psychologist: It’s my job to detect stress. Please, call me Naomi.”

Dean laughs softly seeing Naomi lend out her hand again. This time, Dean shakes it. Not too firmly, but not too limply, either.

“Much better,” she remarks, bringing her hands together, “Now, who’s ready for lamp chops?”

 

The lamp chops are _fantastic._ It’s the perfect blend of rosemary and olive oil to lift the meat from its naturally gamey flavor. They’re also incredibly tender. Dean doesn’t even have to gnaw down to the bone to get to—“Enjoying that lamb, Dean?”

Dean swallows a mountain of meat before answering, “Mhmm. It’s amazing! Did you cook these, Hester?”

Hester nods bashfully. “I’m somewhat of a cook.”

“Yeah, because _‘somewhat’_ is written on every first-place cook-off ribbon in the house,” Cas remarks, turning to Dean with a smile that exposes his gums. It’s Dean’s favorite smile. “Momma’s the best and she and everyone in this county knows it.”

“Wow. So you’ve probably made a mean Wilbur,” Dean jokes.

“Bacon is a specialty of mine,” Hester admits.

“What’s your secret?”

“Sorry,” Naomi interjects, grin on her face, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to stick around a little longer to get in on the Novak family recipes.”

Dean turns to Cas sitting next to him, whose expression turns curious the longer Dean stares at him. God, he’s so cute. Everything about him. He’s usually not a PDA person, but screw it. He doesn’t stop himself leaning forward to kiss him. It’s nothing more than a peck, but it lights up Cas like a Christmas tree.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Dean states before turning back to the two moms, whose grins can barely confine to the limits of their faces.

“Well,” Naomi says, getting to her feet with the newly cleaned plates, along with her wife, smile immovable, “I think it’s a good time to bring out the dessert. Are you a fan of Gamay, Dean?”

“I’m a fan of alcohol,” Dean replies without hesitation.

“Lovely, I think it’ll go well with the—”

“Pecan pie!” Hester yells, already somewhere Dean guesses is close to the kitchen.

“I’ll leave you two be for a moment,” Naomi says.

“Are you sure you don’t need help, Naomi?”

“I’m fine, honey,” she insists, “you two just talk amongst yourselves for a moment.”

With that, Dean and Cas are left to an empty table.

“So…” Dean starts.

“So…” Cas scratches his neck.

Dean laughs, “Your parents are super chill.”

“Yeah,” Cas says, smiling. “Yeah, they’re pretty alright.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I—”

Cas glues Dean’s lips shut with a kiss. Dean leans into it, and just as Cas initiates tongue, he pulls back.

“What’s—?”

“Mom radar,” he responds. “I know when they’re coming before they’re coming. A blessing and a curse of having two moms.”

Dean hums in acknowledgment and, sure enough, a few seconds later, Hester comes out, followed by Naomi, cradling a pecan pie in heart-patterned oven mitts. “Alright,” she says, approaching the two lovebirds with a dotting smile, “Cas, honey, would you do the honors of cutting the first piece for Dean?”

“Of course, Mamma,” Cas returns, grinning, “and Dean, I’m sure you want a big sli—Dean?”

Dean snaps his head to Cas deliriously. He’s not sure when he stopped tuning in, or when the air around him started feeling a bit too thick to take in all at once. “I…” Dean gulps, adjusting the tie over his flannel. “Sorry, uhm… where’s your restroom?”

“Across the hall, second door to the right—are you okay, Hon?” Naomi asks, but all Dean can do is shake his head before rushing up from his chair.

His back hits the sink shortly thereafter. He tries turning on the faucet to calm his shaking, sweaty hands, but his head feels like cotton candy and is spinning as fast as the machine that makes it, so he only ends up on the floor.

“Dean? _Dean!_ What’s going on?” Dean doesn’t know he’s slumping over until Cas throws the door open and his hands pull Dean forward and into his chest. “Hey, I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’m here, just breathe…”

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean slams the lid to the toilet and wipes his mouth. He feels like a rag doll—and not Aerosmith’s version. He feels like his body weighs nothing more than a few pieces of dense cloth that enable him to slump forward or back. He chooses the latter, because the porcelain is cool and it’s the only thing aside from Cas’s voice still keeping him grounded. “Not really, no,” he says, followed by a weak laugh.

“Okay.”

That’s the nice thing about Cas. He doesn’t pressure Dean to get out anything he doesn’t want to—at least not right away. He’ll still sit there, looking at you like a dog that’s just placed his prized bone before your feet.

He eventually shifts his gaze to the floor. That’s when Dean blurts, “I’m happy.”

Cas tilts his head, because _yeah,_ that sounds crazy for a guy who just had a panic attack, but still manages to nod a little. “Okay.”

“It’s just…” Dean scoffs and focuses on his hands in his lap a moment before lifting his head again. “You have it, man. You have these moms that love and support you and make you pecan pie for your boyfriend and… I never had any of that. At least not for long. Seeing your mom bring out that pie brought back the image of my mom doing the same when I was four, a few months before the house fire. It’s probably the last one I remember, actually…”

Cas’s face drops. “Oh Dean…”

“And now… I know it’s not the same, but I just feel whole again.” Dean laughs, “I know I just met your parents, but it feels like… I don’t know, like… where I’m supposed to be? And it’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Cas finishes. He leans against the wall as his lips curve into a smile. “I felt the same way when I was adopted. I was shy of turning ten and convinced I wasn’t getting out of the system. So naturally, when my moms took me in, I didn’t expect it to be longer than a few months.” Cas huffs a laugh of his own as he looks around the guest bathroom with a strange fondness in his gaze, “I remember being in this same bathroom, actually, after they told me they were going to adopt me.”

Dean’s not sure when his mouth started dropping, but since it’s already open: “You haven’t told me that.”

“You’re not the only one who feels at home in their current situation.”

Cas says it so straight, Dean has to blink a few times to ward off the sands of emotion tickling his eyes. He fails, however, when he feels something wet slipping from his long, elastic eyelashes. “Ugh,” he grunts, palming his tears, “come over here and hold me, you asshole.”

Cas does just that—but only for a minute or so before his mom radar pings again, then: “Screw it,” Cas says, clinging onto Dean tighter until a pair of knocks presents itself at the door.

“Dean, Cas—baby, is everything okay?” Hester asks through the door.

“Yeah, Momma,” Dean and Cas respond in tandem.

Dean buries his reddening face on Cas’s shoulder, leaving an equally blushing Cas to pick up where they left off: “Everything’s fine. Dean just needed a little hug therapy.”

“You haven’t even had the wine yet, darling,” Naomi remarks. “Trust me; I’m a doctor… of sorts.”

“Sounds great, Naomi,” Dean remarks, stamping his smile into the tan fold of Cas’s neck.

The next thing out of Cas’s mouth does it for Dean. Cas has to hold him through the silent laughter shaking his body like an internal earthquake after he comments, “So… how ‘bout the Pimpmobile?”

 

Yeah, he has a feeling he’ll like it here too.


End file.
